


Spin the Bottle

by dedkake



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Getting Back Together, M/M, Multi, School Reunion, Spin the Bottle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 23:10:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4980286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedkake/pseuds/dedkake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik's not sure why they're playing spin the bottle at their five year high school reunion and he really wishes they weren't because he absolutely cannot kiss Charles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spin the Bottle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theapolis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theapolis/gifts).



> Thanks for the prompt--I haven't written anything in a while and I really needed to, so really, thanks for the push! I tried to keep it funny, but I have way too many feelings about these losers.

Erik isn’t quite sure how their game of Truth or Dare has morphed into Spin the Bottle, but he’s fairly certain Raven has something to do with it. He’s also fairly certain that he tried to stop it from happening, but his protests of “We’re adults” had been waved away. Apparently four successful years of undergrad and new high powered-positions across the country are not enough to make the first graduating mutant class of the Brian Xavier Institute real adults.

Which is fine. Spin the Bottle is fine, Erik tells himself. It’s just a kiss, just ten seconds of a kiss, and he’s one of the only single people in the room. No one is going to take anything seriously. It’s just a game. Really, Erik is fine with kissing just about everyone in the room. Everyone except one person.

At least it’s fine until Emma realizes he’s directing the spin of the beer can away from himself and promptly switches it with a plastic soda bottle. Dammit.

No one seems to notice the change, except when Erik looks up from his own drink, he finds Charles passing a hand over his face, a gesture Erik remembers means he’s drunk _and_ nervous. Charles doesn’t want to kiss him either. Shit.

He should probably leave now, before things get out of hand, but when he tries to stand, Alex pulls him back into his seat. “You can’t leave now,” he says, placing a fresh beer in front of Erik. “Things are just getting exciting.”

Erik’s not quite sure how playing games for teenagers is exciting, but he’s also not about to fight his way out of the room, not with the way Emma is eyeing him from Alex’s other side. “Fine,” he grumbles, trying not to watch the way Raven is devouring Hank—they’ve been dating for over a year, of course, but a little decency would do them some good.

The look of mild horror on Sean’s face when his spin lands on Darwin is hilarious, except then Alex and Darwin holds hands through the kiss and Erik thinks he might be sick with how cute they are.

“Really, boys,” Emma says sourly, “it’s just one kiss.”

Darwin places a kiss on Alex’s hand as Sean makes a gagging face. “Doesn’t change the fact that I promised this man I’d share all my kisses with him.”

Yes, Erik thinks, vomiting is the only option.

“How long have you two been together?” Charles asks, speaking up for the first time in the better part of an hour, which is odd in itself. Erik tries not to think about it.

“Three years,” Alex answers, tugging his hand away from Darwin, his blush reaching all the way to his ears. “And don’t think small talk is going to get your out of your spin.”

Charles sighs and spins, staring resolutely at the bottle and not at the faces around the table. Erik follows his lead, his heart beating almost painfully every time the bottle faces him. He tries not to think about the last time he kissed Charles, something lazy and warm in the morning sun, and he definitely tries not to think about the last time he saw Charles, his throat tight with anger and guilt and despair.

Of course, in the act of trying not to remember, Erik can’t help but to wallow in memory. He wonders, for a brief second, if Charles is doing the same.

The bottle mercifully lands on Angel, although Erik isn’t quite so sure it’s a mercy as she almost climbs into Charles’ wheelchair to kiss him, hot and fast and way more than the game dictates, but Charles is grinning into it, holding her gently, and Erik can’t tear his eyes away.

“Hey now, dear brother,” Raven says, after a good thirty seconds have passed and Erik could kiss her willingly without the bottle’s help. “You both have dates next week, and not with each other.”

Charles pulls out of the kiss slowly, as he always does, smiling at Angel as he does. “Thank you, darling,” he says, in that quiet, low tone he has when he’s aroused. Erik’s heart hurts and it’s almost hard to breathe.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” Angel says, slipping back into her own seat. She turns to the rest of the table conspiratorially and stage whispers, “It’s true—he’s a damn good kisser.”

Erik knows that already and he doesn’t appreciate the reminder. He tries to focus on the fact that there’s only two more people before it’s his turn instead of listening to the giggles around the table. Maybe something will happen in the next two minutes that will prevent the game from continuing. Maybe Erik should just break a pipe or something—water bursting through the ceiling would certainly end the game. The other damage isn’t important.

He barely even registers it as Emma and Raven share a kiss that might be as steamy as Charles and Angel’s, but he’s acutely aware that Alex kisses Hank for exactly ten seconds in what might be a more awkward show than Sean and Darwin. It’s definitely not long enough for Erik to gather himself enough for the chance that he might be kissing Charles again.

It’s only a one in eight chance, but apparently that’s all it takes, because once Erik’s spun the bottle, it lands pointing resolutely at Charles. Fuck.

Fucking hell.

There’s a collective breath drawn around the table as if everyone remembers at once why this game was a terrible idea in the first place. Erik doesn’t need to be a telepath to know they’re all suddenly thinking of the day he left. Erik tries not to think about it, looking up to meet Charles’ steady gaze. And of course Charles looks steady, like this isn’t a big deal. He still has no idea how much he hurt Erik that day.

Erik lets out a sigh into the silence and stands, walking around the table to Charles. “Is this alright?” he asks, leaning down so he’s closer.

Charles lip curls into something like a smile, but his eyes are hard. “Not really, but I’ll survive,” he says, and reaches out, his fingers pulling Erik’s face down into a kiss.

It’s almost like Erik remembers—the way Charles’ fingers are too warm on his face, the way he pushes and pulls at the same time, the give of his mouth when Erik pushes back.

Erik realizes suddenly that it’s been well over ten seconds and tears himself away. The rest of the room is still silent and Charles is staring at him with both longing and disdain and Erik decides now is exactly the right time to leave.

Pushing his way to the door, he flees, following the corridors of the mansion by memory. Even after five years he remembers all the shortcuts and secrets that will get him out faster. Which is good, because he’s not really thinking straight enough to get himself out on his own.

The ache in his chest is longing, he realizes. He misses Charles more than he thought he would, and the kiss has him aching like the wound is fresh.

He’s not exactly sure why he winds up in the garden instead of out front where his car is parked, but he’s not at all surprised when Charles catches up with him. They probably should have confronted one another a long time ago, but here they are.

Charles moves his chair carefully through the lawn, following a path for it that Erik can barely see in the light. This is where they’d parted two years ago, on this very lawn. Erik had walked away without looking back. He almost regrets it.

“You shouldn’t have left,” Charles says when he’s close enough. Erik can see the glare in his eyes.

“And you shouldn’t have even met with the CIA,” Erik replies. He thinks maybe he should sound angrier than he does, but he’s so tired.

Charles lets out a long sigh and rubs at his temples. “I had to, Erik, after my father passed. He’d already begun negotiations and Kurt was eager to continue them.” He sounds as tired as Erik feels.

“That’s not a good excuse, Charles,” Erik says, his anger cooler now than it had been then. “You’re helping them find mutants. Even after what happened with Schmidt. You went behind my back and agreed to help the hunt against your own kind.”

“Erik,” Charles snaps, and the anger there startles Erik. “I did nothing of the sort. All I did was enter into negotiations with them. They already had the machine—and I got it back.”

Erik stares at him through the dark, his heartbeat picking up again, surprise pushing through his anger. “What?”

Charles is glaring up at him in the dark. “I got it back. Cerebro is mine now and they only get the information I want to give them. Kurt would have it if I hadn’t done what I did, and you know where that would have led.”

There’s a long moment of silence as Erik tries to process this new information. It changes everything; it means he left for nothing, it means that mutant youth are far safer now than they have been in a long time.

He feels sick.

“Why didn’t you say anything when I left? After?” Erik finally manages.

“It was my father’s funeral, Erik! Everyone was there, including a handful of other telepaths. I couldn’t very well shout to the world my plans to undermine the authority of the CIA _and_ destroy my late-father’s last project _at his funeral_ in front of all his friends and acquaintances,” Charles says, his words accusatory but his tone still empty and tired.

“And then, I suppose I was hurt that you could believe so little of me, that you could leave without actually waiting to talk with me, and I thought it was for the best.”

Erik swallows. “So why are you telling me now?”

Charles reaches out slowly, taking Erik’s hand carefully in his own. “I heard that you were getting transferred back to New York,” he says just as carefully.

“And?”

“And I hoped that you would kiss me again.” This time Erik can hear the smirk on his face.

“Cocky,” Erik mutters, but leans down to kiss him anyway.

This time is better, flavored with Charles’ happiness instead of regret, and Erik lets himself sink into the chair over Charles like he used to, wrapping himself around Charles completely.

“We should go back to the party,” he murmurs a few minutes into the kiss, pressing his lips to the skin beneath Charles’ ear.

Charles shudders. “I believe that our friends have moved on from Spin the Bottle to Seven Minutes in Heaven,” he says, breath warm on Erik’s cheek.

“We’re adults,” Erik mutters, annoyed at the very thought.

“So you said before,” Charles says, his hands warm on Erik’s sides, “but what exactly does it mean?”

“It means that we can spend considerably more than seven minutes in heaven _and_ be much more private about it,” Erik says, kissing Charles again.

Charles pulls back with a smirk. “In that case, I’m sure we won’t be missed.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Check it out on tumblr, too!](http://dedkake.tumblr.com/post/130969037167)


End file.
